


A Burdened Heart's Revenge

by Lululeigh



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Blood and Violence, Broken Bones, Child Death, F/M, Fire Emblem Fates: Revelation Spoilers, Minor Character Death, Oxygen Deprivation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Fire Emblem Fates, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25691011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lululeigh/pseuds/Lululeigh
Summary: Residual fires continue to burn in pockets as he crosses over the town’s boundary, withering the once well-kept flower gardens and orchards before his very eyes.How terrifying a nation Gunter lived in, for its king to organize the massacre of his home for declining his offer of dragon’s blood.
Relationships: Gunter/Nameless Wife
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: Calamity's Advent





	A Burdened Heart's Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fan fiction for [Calamity's Advent](https://twitter.com/InvincibleZine), a Fire Emblem Horror and Angst zine!
> 
> Thank you so so much to [thislittlekumquat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thislittlekumquat) for taking the time out of her busy life to beta read this fic for me! It means the world to receive your feedback ♥
> 
> As this fic includes not only Revelation spoilers but also heavy content, please check the tags before reading!

There were a few times in Gunter’s life when he would admit he was scared. He had been scared the first time he stepped foot onto a battlefield, worried that his young life would be over before he even had a chance to live. When struck across the face with a sword, he had been scared that he would lose all vision in his left eye. Most embarrassingly, he had been scared to become a father, worried that his child would grow up thinking that he was an absent parent due to his station as a knight in the Nohrian army. The emotion of those memories seemed minuscule though when compared to the nauseating terror that shuddered through him when he heard that Garon had deployed his army to stamp out a rebellion in his hometown.

His ears had not stopped ringing since he first overhead the news in the barracks not one hour ago, his blood pumping furiously as he rushed to the stables to ready his steed for immediate departure. There had been a flurry of shouting as he left, though he would deal with the punishment issued for his insubordination upon his return, if he managed to drag himself back. He gripped the reins so tightly that he thought he might rip them in two, and his jaw clenched firmly shut as he ground his teeth together. The rest of the world disappeared from his field of vision as he stared straight ahead, horrifying thoughts rushing through his mind concerning what he would find at his destination. Gunter prayed that his horse would be able to carry him for the duration of the long journey to the Duet Mountains, though if need be, he would dismount and continue on foot. He did not have a second of time to waste if he wanted to prevent the worst from happening.

It feels like years have been stolen from his life as he lays eyes on the valley town from atop the mountain and he waits not a second longer before racing down the worn and muddy path as fast as his horse will gallop. Billows of smoke cover the area in a toxic haze which causes his throat to burn terribly. The town is still by the time he arrives, vacant of the soldiers he knows that Garon has ordered with explicit instructions that morning. His hope crumbles, cognisant that he is too late to save the town, but as he dismounts, lance in hand, he prays to the dusk dragon that some of these dear people were able to escape.

Residual fires continue to burn in pockets as he crosses over the town’s boundary, withering the once well-kept flower gardens and orchards before his very eyes. Many of the homes here were crafted out of logs from the nearby forest and his stomach lurches at the gruesome interiors now exposed for any unfortunate soul who passed by the town to see. Broken possessions litter the ground in dangerous shards of glass and clay as pools of blood from limp bodies collect in patches around the debris. Garon’s army had shown this town no mercy, and the king had ensured there would be no survivors, making an example of the knight through a corrupt demonstration of power. How terrifying a nation Gunter lived in, for its king to organize the massacre of his home for declining his offer of dragon’s blood.

His empty hand trembles; with fear, or with anger, he is not quite sure. His eyes burn as tears stream down his face, though there was no longer enough smoke in the air to cause him to cry. A part of him wishes he could turn back and forget what he has seen before it permanently becomes engraved in his memory. However, his noble heart pushes him forward, urging him to look for survivors. If anyone were clutching onto their last breath, he would be their only chance at survival.

As he drags his feet towards the town’s centre, it becomes clear to him that the town has been abandoned for hours. The usually busy streets that were once filled with chatter, business deals, and laughter now stood as mournful as a grave, and he was their sole visitor. Gunter hardly recognizes this place anymore to the point where the carefully laid cobblestone of the town square serves as the only indicator of his location. He swallows and takes the road to the left as he recalls all the festivities the town once held in the square and all of the memories he made with his family. Cherishing those moments are not enough to steel his heart for the cruel reality that stares back at him as he turns the corner.

The building he once called home is nearly unrecognizable. He stands where the cobblestone path, which leads down to the house, meets with the road, shocked at the horror that rests before him. Nothing remains of the structure’s walls, and there is barely enough support left to hold up the roof, the slaughter that occurred inside on display for all who pass by to see. Of course, he will be the only one to see this, and it scalds him to realize that this was all set up with the cruellest of intentions.

He crumbles to his knees when he finally manages to bring himself to cross the threshold. The world feels as though it is moving in slow motion, like he has to drag his feet through thick mud to make even the smallest progress. He heaves with a choked sob, his body forcing him to breathe deeply as he takes in the heart-wrenching sight that rests before him. Their wounds tell him that they at least did not suffer for countless hours, though the petrified looks on their faces wrack him with guilt. 

_ As a knight—their knight—it was his job to protect them _ .

He picks up the lifeless bodies of his wife and child and holds them to his chest, their blood smearing across the surface of his armour. Gunter is uncertain how long he kneels and laments the loss of his loved ones, his sobs and wails echoing throughout the demolished town. He knows that as soon as he returns to the castle he will not be granted another free moment to himself, and while he could flee, Garon’s soldiers would find him soon enough and drag him back to the castle for whatever punishment the tyrannical king deemed fit. And so, with sorrow and hatred brewing at the forefront of his mind, he takes his time, crying out his woes until his throat is parched and his head feels numb.

It is the pounding against his skull that forces him to open his eyes, ceasing the awful visions that plagued his unconsciousness. The experience of watching those memories replay in his head leaves him startled and he questions how it could be possible to recall them in lifelike detail. Some nights, while stationed at the Northern Fortress, he laid in his bed and remembered the joyful moments he spent with his family. Other days he dwelt on his torment from dawn until dusk during his arranged servitude to Garon’s hostage. Was it because the spectre of death now hung over him that the memories felt all too real?

The sun’s rays hurt his eyes, so used to the darkness of Nohr’s perpetual night, and it takes Gunter a moment for his eyes to adjust before he can see again. As the veteran knight becomes more aware of his surroundings, he recognizes the metallic taste of metal in his mouth and spits bloodied saliva onto the ground. His body throbs in pain, no doubt in terrible shape from the fall into the Bottomless Canyon. He cannot even bring himself to crawl over to the pile of rubble nearby and sit upright and instead resigns himself to lay horizontally in the cold dirt below as he stares far off into the distance. Pieces of his armour are scattered throughout the lush green grass, likely having fallen off from his impact with the ground. His horse Sascha is nowhere to be seen—at least in his field of vision—and he wonders if she managed to survive the fall too. He hopes that she is not suffering at least and laments over not being able to put her out of her misery if she is not doing well. 

“What a lousy way to die,” Gunter wheezes and spits again as he questions what might claim his life first: his broken ribs puncturing his lungs or the blood loss. He glances up to the sky out of the corner of his eye and notes how surreal it all looks, his oxygen-deprived brain reasoning the floating islands to be hallucinations. It has been years since he has seen grass as healthy as what grows below him and he is not quite certain what to make of the rocks floating in the sky. This place cannot possibly be Nohr or Hoshido, though the more he thinks about it, the more his head throbs with pain. Perhaps it is best not to dwell on the matter and accept that wherever this is, that it is his final resting place.

“My dear wife… my child… it seems that I will be joining you before I was able to restore your honour.”

Gunter could not deny that he had thought about exacting his revenge on the king and he dreamt of the relief it would bring him to make Garon feel the same pain he had for all those years since his reason for living had been taken away. In his first years of service at the Northern Fortress, the veteran knight had dedicated a section of his notebook to a few ways to approach his revenge, some detailed in the most gruesome of manners. Gunter continued to plot his revenge even though he became disturbingly aware that the caring person he once knew the king to be was not the same individual that coldly sat before him during his reports concerning the kidnapped child. Perhaps the child would be gravely injured while training or come down with an awful sickness no healer could treat; it was easy to make their death look like an accident in the expanse of the Northern Fortress. Maybe they had also been pushed into the Bottomless Canyon by Garon’s henchman and were awaiting their painful death.

Gunter sighed. For so many years he was left with nothing but his armour and now, with death grinning closely from above, the one thought that raced through his mind was how unfulfilling this ending felt.

“Unfulfilling? Your loyal service is still needed, veteran knight of Nohr.”

“Who—?!” The menacing voice startles Gunter from his stillness, and he scans the area around him as best he can, searching for the voice’s owner. He finds nothing and wonders if the blood loss is causing him to hear voices.

“Regrettably, I can only speak to you like this, as presently I lack a physical form. I hardly see that as a problem, however. It is much easier to find vassals than I realized.”

The earth must be on fire now as his entire body is immediately consumed by pain. It cuts through him like a hot knife as it sears his flesh to his very bones. His face contorts in agony and he bites down on his tongue so hard that he can taste the blood pooling in his mouth once again. 

He brings himself to open his eyes and is shocked to see no raging fire surrounding him. It is then that he realizes that rather than burning alive from the outside in, he is being devoured from the inside out. The air around him grows thick and cloudy, his lungs desperate for air as the threatening entity overtakes his body. He tears at the grass on the ground as though it would provide him with some kind of grounding. His efforts of resistance are futile, and not long after he loses consciousness once more so that the transformation can be completed with limited struggle. 

When Gunter comes to, he is startled by how light his body feels. Moving now feels effortless, like he has been unshackled from the weights that had been tied to his ankles for the last thirty years. His increased strength allows him to wield his lance with renewed power and the injuries he had sustained from the fall have been completely erased. He cannot say he is surprised to learn that one of the First Dragons had orchestrated the current havoc upon the world when he considers Garon’s obsessive worship of the Dusk Dragon. Anankos and he are now the same, and though he may not have total control over his body anymore, he finally has the opportunity to ensure his revenge.

“Continue to faithfully serve Corrin for the time being. Only when you two are alone should you attempt to kill them." 

Gunter chuckles and mounts his horse, eager to finally set his plan in motion. He has spent the last four days in Valla training, becoming familiar with his new power and practicing masking his true potential to not raise suspicion.

"Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

“I will explain more of the details later. Look, our guests have finally arrived. Remember, you know nothing of this world, nor how you managed to survive the fall.”

The voice in Gunter’s head disappears with little warning, though the power he feels flowing through his body reminds him that Anankos is still close by. He grips his lance a little tighter and urges his steed through the murky corridor; from here on out, the success of his revenge would rely on the calibre of his acting skills.

**Author's Note:**

> PHEW, where do I start? Thank you so much for reading and making it all the way through! To all my Gunter mutuals, I'm incredibly sorry for all the pain I just put you through. For years I've wanted to write my interpretation of the events that led up to Gunter's possession, and when I saw the interest check for this zine I thought, "What an excellent opportunity! Now I shall cry for 5000 years." Here we are.
> 
> I tried to make the story as canon-compliant and in-character as possible since that's important to me. However, a few of us have recently discovered that in the Fates artbook under Gunter's personal history section it says (if my rusty translation skills are correct) that Garon gave Gunter the scar on his face after destroying his hometown and murdering his family :') Maybe one day when I recover from the shock of this revelation (haa;;) I'll write a fic that details those events, and somehow smush these two creations together.


End file.
